


No Solace Here

by orphan_account



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Explicit Language, F/F, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22920307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They can't keep doing this, Adora knows that- eventually, it will destroy them both.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Kudos: 45





	No Solace Here

“Does it hurt?” 

Catra whispers against the shell of her ear and Adora shudders at the heat of her breath, the bite beneath her words- mocking, pressing Adora more firmly into the tree she is backed against.

She manages a nod even with Catra’s fingers wrapped tightly around her neck, claws scraping against her carotid artery, pulse beating rapidly under the threat of it all. Adora knows she will be a splatter of blotchy blue and purple by morning, a pale canvas of water color spreading beneath her skin that will stain for days and days. The others will worry, she’s going to need a scarf to hide her neck for at least a week and they’re already suspicious enough. 

_‘Why do you keep sneaking away in the dead of night?’ They ask, ganging up on her and she laughs it off as patrol- she’s always on edge for the next horde attack and even if they don’t buy it, what can they do?_

Adora can’t explain this to herself, let alone anyone else.

“Good.” 

Adora is suddenly slammed by her throat to the ground, knocking the air out of her lungs and Catra is straddling her waist, tail coiling around one of her wrists, the other locked up by the hand that isn’t at her throat and Catra is biting at her lips, kissing her with a passion that makes her moan and she is afraid and so fucking turned on and she doesn’t mind letting Catra hurt her as much as she should.

In these moments, when Catra takes and takes and **_takes_ ** until Adora is a broken mess, Adora is freed from the shackles of her guilt. She is free from the voice in the back of her mind that whispers in Catra’s voice that this is all her fault. This loss of their friendship that left a gaping chasm of self loathing and this _needwanthatelust- ‘Just fuck me Catra’ she had growled, the first time. Catra obliged_. 

When they were together, she was just Adora- fragile beneath the surface, so irreparably flawed and weak when she is beneath Catra.

Adora _needs_ this.

The same time, the same place after every battle they fight, after every clash between the horde and the rebellion. The times the Rebellion are successful in battle, Catra is particularly rough, like tonight- they had decimated her entire fleet and Adora still feels sick because how many of them had she once called her allies(Adora is a **_traitor_ **)? So when the claws of Catra’s free hand rake down Adora’s side and she is being split open, spilling out in a rush of adrenaline and heavy breaths, she doesn’t fight. The world is going black, her mind frantically trying to escape this moment but she clings to consciousness with the desperation of a drowning man, afraid to let go.

Catra snarls something in Adora’s ears and she doesn’t respond until Catra uses the hand still around her neck to tilt her face up, mismatched eyes burning holes into Adora’s own. Catra’s lips are moving and the words are rough, Adora can barely hear anything over the sound of someone screaming in the distance but- “Adora, stop fucking screaming.”

Adora closes her mouth, ears still ringing from the high pitched keen that had forced itself out without her permission. Catra releases her long enough for her to catch her breath and the muscles in her throat seized with the effort to form words, dry and raw, as though she had been force fed rocks(force fed Catra’s rage). Catra’s ears twitch, features twist into something Adora doesn’t understand but it feels an awful lot like loathing.

“S-sorry.” Adora rasps as though she is not lying in a pool of her own blood, sticky and warm melting into the dirt beneath her and she at least hopes the claw marks won’t get infected and maybe Catra is thinking the same because before Adora can protest Catra ducks down to lap away at the fresh wounds with a pink sandpapery tongue, roughly probing.

Adora hisses, squirms but Catra pins her down and she almost reaches for her sword just inches away. Almost. 

Instead she wills herself still, numbly aware of the shreds of clothing barely concealing her from the night air, her hair tangled and matted, fanned out in the dirt and grass. 

The persistent heat between her legs.

Adora had never expected Catra to be a sadist. What surprised her more was her own submissive streak when they met here in the whispering woods, alone with Catra and reminded of every mistake she had ever made that brought them here and she knows Catra isn’t entirely blameless but maybe if Adora had just been a better friend- the pain Catra promises is a relief from those thoughts and Adora likes to think Catra finds some solace in their therapeutic torment.

(She isn’t stupid; there is no solace to be found here.)

It didn’t surprise her anymore that Catra enjoyed hurting her. Catra could capture her any moment, breaking the unspoken tryst of their nightly ritual. Could slit Adora’s throat with her capable claws, reveal any of this to the alliance and effectively sign Adora’s death warrant- leaving her alone on this planet with no allies.

Instead, she buries her claws deep into Adora’s chest and bats at her heart like a ball of yarn. A cat playing with it’s prey, wondering just how much damage its victim can take until it stops twitching, eyes glazing over in the finality of it’s death. Only then will the cat feast.

It was fucked up and Adora tells herself she can’t keep doing this anymore- it was only a matter of time until Catra grew bored with her toy, until Adora’s pain no longer provided her with- whatever Catra got out of this.

  
  


Adora struggles beneath Catra’s onslaught, stomach lurching at the rumbling purr that accompanies the lapping tongue and when Catra finally does rise from her position with eyes half lidded, her chin and lips sticky with blood(she imagines a cat, drunk off of cream still dripping from it’s chin), Adora can’t help but look away.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving in _now_?” Catra laughs and it’s almost friendly except for the fact that her eyes have narrowed to slits, teeth bared in a fierce twist of lips that is not quite a smile.

  
  


When Adora doesn’t respond, heart pounding away because they always got a little closer to the line she didn’t want to cross( she had no clue where that line was until Catra crossed it), Catra kisses her again, shoving her tongue into Adora’s mouth. The metallic taste of her own blood is bitter and the whimper that crosses her lips is followed up by tears that well up in her eyes and she just can’t stop them. She chokes out a sob.

Catra pulls back alarmed, lurches away from Adora because this is against the rules(unspoken, but understood).

Catra stares down at Adora with turmoil bubbling in her eyes, ears flat against her hair. Adora can only stare back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and trying to sit up despite the spasm of molten agony this elicits from her injured side. 

She tries to speak but the words are dead on her tongue before they can ever pass her sore lips. Catra never listened anyway.

  
  


The silence is deafening between them, the wood itself ceasing the constant buzz of life, listening intently, watching this moment where things could change if they just tried, if Adora just reached out. She almost does when a light breeze whistles past, followed by a rustling in the trees-

“Adora?!” She hears in the distance and she whips her head about, searching wildly around for the direction the voices were coming from. Footsteps, approaching too quickly.

“Catra, go.” Adora chokes out despite the resistance of her abused throat, crawling to her hands and knees by sheer force of will. She grits her teeth, grabs her sword and watches Catra sprint into the darkness as she whispers out,

“For the honor of Grayskull.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to writing fanfiction, but I'm totally all aboard the Adora/Catra train. Phew. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, let me know what you guys think!


End file.
